


Arts and Crafts (Winchester Style)

by bluebeholder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring John Winchester, Casefic (sorta), Fluff, Gen, John Is a Good Dad Sometimes, Weechesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John struggles with a particularly complicated witch hunt. Dean and Sam want to help. </p><p>The result is arts and crafts--Winchester style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arts and Crafts (Winchester Style)

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is about 11 years old; Sam is about 7.

“Dean! Don’t hit me with that!” Sam squawked indignantly from the backyard. 

“I didn’t hit you!” Dean protested loudly. “I just poked you!”

John rolled his eyes and got up from the kitchen table, walking to the open back door and looking out. The boys hurtled around the yard, whacking each other with sticks and generally kicking up a ruckus. “Boys!” he hollered. “I hope you aren’t fighting!”

Dean and Sam skidded to a halt in their rampage. They spun to face John and he almost laughed at their too-saintly expressions. “Nah, Dad!” Sam chirped. He not-so-subtly dropped the stick he was holding. 

“Just playin’, Dad!” Dean said. The top of his stick was poking over his head.

“Then play nice,” John said, and went back inside. The moment he turned around, the shrieking started up again. 

It was good that they had a house right now. This should have been a quick hunt, but John had been stuck on the same case for months. Some witch in this town was raising and binding dead spirits to do her bidding. That bidding was mostly terrorizing innocent people and wreaking havoc on the town’s infrastructure. He couldn’t get a lead on the witch, and was spending most of his time chasing down ghosts who were already causing problems.

The boys weren’t in school today, hence the screaming and play-fighting. It was, if John had to admit it, good to have them around. He didn’t much like having them in school, though Sam was the smartest kid in his class and Dean’s teacher loved him. She’d told John as much at their meeting. As usual, they’d started school late, but in this little town they didn’t seem to be particularly bothered by it. Dean and Sam were both smart—their inheritance from their mother—and it warmed John’s heart to see them racing ahead so fast in school. Neither of them were likely to get much more than a high school education, but all hunters needed smarts.

But today was Saturday, and they didn’t have homework, and they didn’t really have many other friends in town. So he’d sent Dean and Sam out to the backyard to burn off some energy while he looked into town records again on the hopes of finding any evidence of a witch.

When the sun began to go down, John was suddenly interrupted by Dean and Sam crashing in through the door. “What are these, Dad?” Sam demanded, thrusting a large dry plant into John’s face.

He leaned back, suddenly cross-eyed at the thing in his vision. “I don’t know, Sammy,” he said. The plant was long, stem covered in empty seedpods and dry little leaves. “Why don’t you do some research and figure it out?”

Sam let out a put-upon sigh and withdrew the plant from John’s face. “Deeeeeeaaan!” he shouted, darting into the living room. “Can you get down the plant encyclopedia for me!?”

John nodded and smiled, satisfied. Sam was already good at research, better than Dean and more patient with working out the problems. He heard a crash from the living room and wondered if perhaps he should go check on them. “Everything all right?” he called.

“Yeah!” Dean was clearly out of breath. “Nothing broke, promise!”

Well. That was reassuring. John got up and looked into the living room. If something had broken, it wasn’t immediately obvious. The plant was lying across the coffee table. Dean and Sam were curled up on the couch, the plant encyclopedia in Sam’s lap while Dean read over his shoulder. Sam was engaged enough not to notice John, but Dean looked up and flashed a quick grin. “See, we’re good,” he said. 

John raised his eyebrows, but didn’t push the issue. (There was a bruise already forming on Dean’s cheek exactly the shape of a book corner.) “I’m going to start dinner,” he said. 

“Need help?” Dean started to get up.

“No, stay and help your brother,” John said. Normally, he’d let Dean take over making dinner, but tonight he felt like he could take a break from the hunt long enough to make dinner for the boys. He went back to the kitchen and considered what, exactly, they’d be eating. It looked like macaroni and cheese was his best bet. If it was Dean cooking, he’d ignore even the idea of vegetables. But it was John cooking, so he conceded that adding frozen peas to the mix was a good idea. That and a rather old can of tuna produced a decent enough meal.

By the time dinner was ready, the living room had been suspiciously quiet for far too long. John poked his head around the corner. The first thing he saw was books, covering the floor and every other available surface. Sam was in the middle of it all, the plant stick in one hand and a tattered encyclopedia of witchcraft on his lap. Dean, perched on the coffee table, was reading his way through one of John’s ancient paperback copies of a necromancy book. There was a notebook and pen sitting next to him, John noticed, half-covered in Dean’s messy handwriting.

He didn’t really have the heart to yell at them about the mess. “Boys,” he said, and they both jumped, looking up at him. “Dinner.”

The meal was, as usual, a sort of controlled chaos. Dean didn’t chew with his mouth closed, and Sam scolded him for it. Sam tried to bring his book to the table, and Dean scolded him for it. The boys wanted to know everything about the case, and John spent most of his time deciding which details were child-friendly enough not to trigger a week and a half of nightmares for Sam. Dean gave him a side-eye every time John left something out, and John knew he’d be answering some harder questions later. 

When the meal was over, Dean jumped up immediately to clean up the dishes. Before John could get back to work, Sam scurried over to stand next to his chair. “Can we show you something, Dad?” he asked.

John sighed and thought about all the things he needed to be doing. “Sure, Sammy,” he said. “Better make it quick, though.”

Sam ducked out of the room and was back in a trice with the plant and a stack of books he could barely manage. They spread out on the table in piles of musty paper and plant seeds. “I think it can help you on your hunt,” Sam said. He grinned proudly and pointed to the encyclopedia of witchcraft. “See, you use mullein to talk to ghosts!”

“Good thought, but I’m not hunting a ghost,” John said. “It’s a witch this time.”

Dean appeared behind him and dropped the notebook on his lap. “Sam and I think you can use mullein candles to commune with the witch’s victims,” he said, and pointed to the half-page of notes. 

John carefully read through the notes, checking them against the books. Pride swelled in his chest as he read. The boys did a good job. The lore backed it up: with the right spell, he could use mullein candles to do exactly what Dean and Sam suggested. He looked up to find Dean and Sam watching him with big, hopeful eyes and bated breath. He smiled. “Good work, boys.”

“You gonna use it to find the witch?” Sam asked.

 _“We’re_ gonna use it to find the witch,” John said, and waited for his words to sink in. A huge grin suddenly spread over Dean’s face, and Sam hopped up and down from excitement. It was rare that John let them help out on a hunt, even in a small way like this. He knew how they craved it, and, besides, what could it hurt this time? “Let’s make some candles, boys.”

Dean whooped and picked Sam up, spinning the smaller boy around in circles. Sam laughed and clutched at Dean when he was finally set down. “Should I go cut more mullein sticks?” the kid asked, breathless.

“Take the big knife, but be careful,” John said. Sam darted into the kitchen and John heard the clanking of things moving as Sam dug for the knife. He looked at Dean, who was flushed with excitement. “Go out to the garage. I think there’s a can or two of paraffin on one of the shelves.”

“Gotcha!” Dean bounded away to the garage. Doors slammed in his wake.

John shook his head at the boys’ enthusiasm and got up to prepare. He found the stock pot—old and rusted, but serviceable for melting wax—and set it on the stove. He covered the kitchen table in newspapers and found some old brushes they could use to paint the mullein stalks. By the time he was ready, Sam was hauling his load of mullein into the kitchen, scattering bits everywhere, and Dean was scooping chunks of paraffin into the stock pot.

The boys kept up a constant stream of chatter while the wax melted. John brought it into the dining room and set the pot on the table, on top of an old folded shirt. At some point, he noticed, Dean had put Sam into one of their old shirts so the younger boy wouldn’t ruin his clothes. Dean hadn’t bothered, and John wondered if he should say anything. But he didn’t. 

Sam laid out the mullein sticks with meticulous precision. John caught Dean carefully edging one of them out of the line when Sam rushed to the bathroom, and rather than saying anything moved a few of them himself. When Sam came back, he stared for a second at the ever-so-slightly disturbed mullein, shook his head, punched Dean lightly on the arm, and squinted suspiciously at John. 

They were up until midnight, painting the mullein with paraffin. Even when Sam started to yawn and drowse a bit, he refused to go to bed. John didn’t push the issue. He let the boys paint while he devised the particular ritual he’d need to summon up the spirits of the witch’s victims. It was decently complicated. There would be circles of mullein candles, plenty of mullein smoke, an incantation he cobbled together based on some old Native American ceremonial chants and some base Latin, some symbols and ghost-draws. The usual. Meanwhile, the boys were getting paraffin everywhere and making John wish he’d covered the floor with newspapers, too.

“You’ve got war paint, Sammy,” Dean said, smearing paraffin under Sam’s eyes.

Sam pressed a wax-covered hand to Dean’s cheek. “You gotta have some too,” he said firmly, eyelids fluttering with sleep. 

“We’re all done with the candles,” John said. “Mind taking him, Dean?”

“Nah,” Dean said. He got to his feet and scooped Sam up. “You gonna stay up?”

John nodded. “Just need to put the final touches on this and I should be good to go for tomorrow night.”

Sam yawned hugely and leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder. “G’night, Dad.”

“Good night, Sam,” John said. “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Dad,” Dean said, turning to leave the kitchen.

John watched him go. “Thanks for the help,” he said before Dean could disappear all the way. His oldest didn’t reply, just looked over his shoulder and grinned before disappearing back to the bedroom.

By the time that the clock read 2 A.M., John thought he was done. He’d have to check it again before performing the ritual, but he was sure it would get him closer to the witch. He got up from the table, stretching and cracking all the aches he picked up from sitting so long. 

Before going to bed, John looked into the boys’ room. He stood for a moment in the doorway, listening to them breathe. In the light from the doorway, John could see the boys tangled together, safe in Sam’s bed. Tomorrow night would be different, with witches and ghosts walking abroad. He’d have to leave Dean a gun.  
If tonight was any evidence, the boys were going to be just fine. They’d found something that could really solve the case and protect people. He thought that maybe he could start leaving more responsibility with Dean after this hunt. 

For tonight, though, John was the only one who would worry about protecting the family from all the things that went bump in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Seemed like the appropriate time to post this, what with it being fall for real now and all. I learned about mullein candles and couldn't help thinking that it would make a great thing for the Winchesters to play with...this was the result.
> 
> Unbeta'd.


End file.
